Reptilian Poetry
by Moon in Pisces
Summary: [it's safe to say it's DISCONTINUED as of now] Uncle Monty is seeing Angela Anaconda and they might get married, but there's one thing, Uncle Monty is obsessively in love with his Mamba Du Mal: Mali.
1. Part 1

R e p t i l i a n P o e t r y

* * *

- 

_/I spread your **Albino** tablecloth on my table and I remember. I remember your shaved eyebrows that made a second roof for your face: a house of worship. And I go there every time the **death toll** rises: that's my milk. And your milk: a pale vampire that is the sun. And I want to throw you in there. All the time I'm thinking: I want to throw you in there today but I can **always** do that/_

-

* * *

Montgomery's dark, heavily drenched bowl hat is tightly enclosed around his crabby skull. His cigarette butt, that's as white as rain clouds, crushes between his wrinkly fingers. A combination of soap and dirt twists and slithers slowly about on a wide but short skin of cold bathwater trapped in a cold-blooded, porcelain tub.

His thin, iced lips suck on the cigarette butt and an echo of his hoarse breaths breathing in the tobacco into his lungs snake up to the ceiling: faint ghosts of flames. He's been sitting like this for hours now, smoking then staring—then smoking.

The dark, curly hair on his bare chest is strewn with thick beads of water. His eyes—hooded by long, spider legged eyelashes—trace every wet strand of hair on his chest. And the bathtub is only half full just like the moon tonight—just like the moon.

_Plop. _

_Plop._

_Plop._

* * *

- 

_/Your **collarbone** is sharp I bought this necklace for you only to shred it. You turn into a dandelion seed—blowing away somewhere in **Kansas**. Blowing away like the beetles that crawled alive on your scalp, from a blow so hard from a tumor's young lips. My hands, they're knotted in a solar system named: Girl with no ears. And your orbs are so **warm**. My hands, they're knotted/_

-

* * *

_Plop._

_Plop._

_Plop._

The Mamba Du Mal neutralizes with the reptilian curves of the bathtub as it slithers, like the smoke puffing from Montgomery's mouth slowly. The hard, smooth snake buries into the morbid solution of bathwater, following the twists and glides of the diluted soap.

Montgomery's eyes stare downward at the dull, blurred scales of the snake underneath the morbid water. How the snake got in the bathroom is beyond his mind, but what can be beyond a mind with no boundaries like his?—as others say.

And he can feel a cold form of what feels like velvet—the serpent's skin—slide against his fleshy stomach that's half hidden in a half full bathtub. And his eyes are so wide now, even though he might be in love with love. They're so wide now because he's thinking maybe, tonight his "Mali" finally understands now.

He buries his free hand into the water and glides it across Mali's hard, smooth coat of scales. The snake slips out of his touch and slithers up his chest slowly like the wind outside. Every part of him she reaches, tingles now like a shock of warmth. A gust of warm, tobacco scented breaths brushes against the snake's slender face.

Her flat, split tongue reaches toward Montgomery's thin lips, melting all the wrong between them.

A silent love, snake and man. Silent stares from the dripping faucet:

_Plop._

_Plop._

_Plop._

* * *

- 

/_My lungs are filled with **Death Valley** sand, from a single dab of your Egyptian mascara on my tooth. And I promise you, through the groans of the children that roll under us, we'll be okay when we jump out—we'll be okay, because I promise that. Your dress reminds me of **Nancy Spungen**, nothing but tumbling peroxide curls. I'm playing dead next to your heartbeat, your heartbeat laughs like a little man-girl. Because you mean the world—We'll be okay, because I **promise **that/_

_-_

* * *

_Plop._

_Plop._

_Plop._


	2. Part 2

R e p t i l i a n P o e t r y (Prt 2)

* * *

- 

_/Blue city: the things I want to say to you. Those things I want to say to you. And your **cheek** is pressed so hard against my side and I'm stroking your sweater. We're sleeping on a bed distorted with moonlight. I feel like a **curve** in your body—that's how much. I am the cry of a bumblebee because the **bumblebee's** tonight they cry for you./_

_-_

* * *

The edge of a wineglass rests on Angela Anaconda's whole, neon-green lips. Her lipstick stains one face of the wineglass as she sips from it. And then her wrists get weak and droop slowly with the stem of the glass tightly pressed between her two fingers. 

Her dress is sleeveless and amber like the waves on Arizona fields under the brows of the sunset. She places the wineglass back on the table, carefully. The man of her life sits, at a distance, next to her. He's watching the Indian performers on stage as they throat sing and yodel almost like the echoes of the prehistoric age of humanity: when humans and animals were alike.

The performer's long, dark-skinned hands pound on drums made with tree branches and leather. Their drums mimic the gestures of feelings: trying to steal your heartbeat—trying to steal your heart.

_BANG! Bang! BANG!_

_Bang, Bang!_

_Bang! Bang! BANG!_

* * *

- 

_/Sometimes the **flimsiest** are the best weapons. And I'm not saying that because I am. I'm still hostile like a feather on top of a duck's bill—because I'm a **faggot** who cries while leading the ants down his shirt. My shirt was blue like the city. And you can't see me because I'm wearing the **city**. Blue city./_

_-_

* * *

"Monty," Angela says in her loud-whisper-like voice. She can't even hear her voice and her lithe hands are about to strangle her neck from behind, but she just scratches. Her hand is hidden behind carefully bobbed auburn hair, a style she's kept since she was a little girl… 

And Montgomery doesn't look at her—because he can't look at her.

"Monty. Monty, you're quiet," She spits out, but it feels more like vomit out of her mouth. Her heart expands as the Indian performers continue their show—and Montgomery could make her heart explode…

Those thin, iced lips of his never move.

Her piano-key fingers press against his broad shoulder lightly and rub it back and forth. The drums pound her heart all the way up to her throat and she's restless—now she's restless.

"Monty."

She grazes the tip of her ivory finger across the thin slope of his bottom lip and his lip is wet—wet with those kisses he got from Mali before attending this date. And Montgomery doesn't look at her.

He licks his lips and that reptilian taste travels like serum through his tongue and lingers. He's in love with a snake…He's in love with a snake…

_BANG! Bang! BANG!_

_Bang, Bang!_

_Bang! Bang! BANG!_

* * *

- 

_/**Venus's** pigtails were always long and they hang like a pirate as she swings to **Neptune**. And she might be the only one in love. I'm rubbing the bridge of my nose, but I can't fly up because of the things I want to say to you. Those things I want to say to you are chugging down my throat like turtles and I'm frustrated like Barbara Streisand. All I need is a hammer and I become her. My **surgery **on myself: Blue city./_

-

* * *

"Who is she?" Angela says. Her hands creep along the back of her neck like spiders. Her eyes melt into fishes and swim—search—his face, his crabby skull. 

And Montgomery doesn't look at her.

"Who is she, Monty?" She's strangling her neck now, but her ivory legs squirm like a rape victim: rubbing up and down against each other—up and down…

_BANG! Bang! BANG!_

_Bang, Bang!_

_Bang! Bang! BANG!_

Montgomery squeezes the stem of his wineglass as he brings the thin glass to his lips. The bitter, scarlet pours into his mouth and stains Mali's kisses like blood on a shirt.

And all this time Angela watches him. Her face tightens now. He places the empty, wineglass on the table. She just watches him. He twists her, unconsciously, like a wet rag and all of her drips before him—all of her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Angela," He simply says. He languidly smiles at and steals her Pisces gaze. He reaches for her hand, restless behind her neck. Then, he rubs it—a gentle, chaste rub on her knuckles.

A gentle terrorist attack on her knuckles. 

_BANG! Bang! BANG!_

_Bang, Bang!_

_Bang! Bang! BANG!_


End file.
